


For Dawn And Dusk

by LonelyAgain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Children, Death Eaters, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Gen, Hogwarts Era, Magical Realism, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Portal Fantasy, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Rating May Change, Self-Insert, Slow Build, Tags May Change, Tranported to the Wizarding World, Warnings May Change, Worldbuilding, though not actually inserting myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29246145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyAgain/pseuds/LonelyAgain
Summary: Once, the fae retreated from the world of men.  Magic hid behind secrecy, and the queens and their courts receded further beyond the mists.  But war strikes not only the hearts of men, and sometimes one needs to flee back toward Albion in hopes of sanctuary.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	1. In the Beginning

It was probably luck. When the winds of war swept across the hidden parts of elphinic lands, Phoebe Elizabeth was in the Sanctuary. She had her eyes closed and head bowed, a single drop of blood shimmering in the basin in front of her.

Everything jumbled together. Phoebe felt wards go up around the sanctuary, and then shields surrounded her person. When the fire whirl hit, she could hear screams. Her grandmother next to her burned, embers creeping from the centre out. Her flesh smoldered like the edges of paper. The priestess’ skin flayed from her bones. Blood swirled in every direction, but the shields around Phoebe held.

Time stood still. The wind still blew, but now her father stood before her. He wasn’t… right. Something about him smelled strange, like the sweet incense of funeral rites. He knelt, holding his arms out. “Bethy, sweetheart. Come here.”

It was her Papa’s voice, in their secret tongue, and she ran to him. As he hugged her tightly, he spoke. “I don’t have much time, little love. Magic and will and blood and war. I must do my part.” He gently put her from him and pulled a thin black stick and a small gold key from his coat. “These were mine, and they will tell the goblins who you are. You must not speak or reveal too much, too soon, for they will not understand. Find the Seer, Bethy.”

“Papa?” Bethy looked at him with confusion in her eyes.

He clasped her to him again. “I love you, Phoebe Elizabeth Max. Be safe. Remember who you are.”

The wind swirled again, ice this time, and their moment was lost. Phoebe was spun into the air, ripped from her papa’s arms. He watched her go as she screamed in pain, shards of ice cutting like glass, his eyes dry. Memories could not cry. He’d traded life and unlife and the sweetness of death for this chance for his little girl. He just hoped the goddess would keep her word, as he offered the last of himself for her use. His last thoughts were of his child as he faded into the exile of an afterlife not his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to VisceralComa, AlyssumFlowers, GrumpkinVicky, and theH00ded1 over on the Portal Fantasy discord server for their long suffering aid on this project.
> 
> The plan is to post frequent and/or bursts of small chapters once a month for this. That...may change given offline circumstances.


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gringotts Bank and Healing a Child

When the bloody bundle of expensive silk hit the floor of Gringotts, the goblins didn’t even pause in their work. A high pitched scream echoed for a moment, then suddenly stopped. 

There was silence for about three seconds. Then pandemonium. Patrons fled for the doors, women screamed. When the bundle moved, a woman fainted.

A few brave souls approached, sticks held out from their bodies like weapons. A brown boot nudged at the bloody mess, and the owner gasped when the pile whimpered. His hands reached down and uncovered a head of long brown hair.

“It’s a child!” he shouted, “She’s been splinched!”

There was a flurry of activity as unfamiliar magic pulsed around her, shoving the man and everyone else back. The magic pushed until everyone was at least five feet away, then settled. Every single goblin stopped what they were doing and looked up at that.

It was mere moments later when three people shoved their way through the crowd, shiny insignia on their collars. The tall female leaned down, tsking. “Oh dear, oh dear. You poor thing.” She glanced up at one of her compatriots. “She’s alive.” The girl’s hair was brushed back, and the woman looked into two blue tear-filled eyes. “And awake. We need a healer.”

Everyone was speaking in her Papa’s tongue. She understood most of it, but Papa had told her it was a language that only a few knew.

“Don’t move, duckling,” the woman murmured, running a hand along Phoebe’s limbs. She waved a light brown twig over Phoebe and muttered something. Some of the wracking pain disappeared, but she still hurt. Another wave and she could see better, as the blood dripping into her eyes vanished.

“There you are, sweeting. You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you. Can you tell me who your mummy and daddy are?” The woman kept talking as she checked the girl’s injuries, but Phoebe couldn’t say anything. She was looking around the vaulted marble room with wide eyes. Her gaze settled on the woman again, focusing on her blond hair. The ends were blue, which drew the child’s attention. “You’ve landed in Gringotts. Looks like a portkey accident. Do you know where you were going?”

As Phoebe shifted, her father’s black stick clattered to the floor, followed by the pinging of a key. A goblin was there before the small noises stopped. “Let me see the key.”

The odd-haired lady went to touch it, and swiftly drew her hand back with a muffled curse. The goblin grimaced. “An old key.” He reached down, picking it up with no issue. The woman picked up the stick with a corner of her cloak.

The murmurs of the other bank patrons impinged on the child’s ears. “Bring her this way,” intoned the goblins.

A very large male person with the same insignia on his collar as the lady reached down to grab the girl. His pale face was set in a scowl, and there was cruelty around his eyes. Her eyes widened, accompanied by a terror filled screech, as she tried to scramble back. The situation was too much for her, and tears ran down her face as she sobbed in fear and pain.

The woman nearly growled at the man, and told him to back off. “Does anyone know that language?” The girl had said something, but it wasn’t English. “You’re hurt, sweeting. If you come with us, we’ll see about bandages and perhaps some tea while we wait for the healer. Is that alright?”

Phoebe was still holding her arm to her belly. She stared a bit too long for politeness at the woman, who hadn’t hurt her. Phoebe choked back the shameful display, gathering herself as she rested on the floor. And spoke in her father’s tongue. “If you wouldst be so kind.”

The man again came forward, bending as if to reach for her, and Phoebe shrank back from him. “I’ll bring her,” the woman said to the men with her.

Phoebe flinched when the men looked angry. “Heyla, now, none of that. Such frowns my mates have. Now, I’m going to lift you into my arms. Try not to move, alright?” The second man murmured and waved his stick, and the woman gave him a grateful look.

The goblin who had spoken before glowered at them. “In here. Do not dawdle.” The lady set Phoebe down on a goblin-sized couch in the small office. The two men seemed to realise their presence made the child nervous, and stayed near the door.

“Let me see the wand,” the goblin demanded.

The woman handed it over. It was always sticky when aurors dealt with Gringotts. Technically the grounds were sovereign territory, not directly under ministry oversight. If they hadn’t already been there, they may not even have been summoned, depending if the Goblins considered it an internal matter or a wizarding one.

The goblin ran his fingers over the wand,then the key, making a humming noise. He set the wand and the key in the centre of the desk. “You may leave the child.”

One of the men, the mean one, at the door stiffened, and opened his mouth to say something. The other one elbowed him and spoke up. “I’m sorry, Gorlak, but we can’t just leave a child. Especially one that is injured.”

“Very well.” The goblin pressed a button on his desk, and two armoured goblins came through another door. They stood at either end of the couch Phoebe was sitting on. The silence loomed.

Oddly, it was that first goblin that had manners, though his tone was curt but crisp when he spoke to Phoebe in English, ensuring his sounds were clear. “I am Gorlak, of the Nation. May I ask your name?”

Phoebe glanced around the room. Goblins she knew, they were associated with her grandmother’s court. So few were left after their defence, she was surprised to see any out of hiding. “I shall be called Phoebe Elizabeth, Warlord Gorlak.”

His ears twitched as she spoke, and he tried a few different languages with no response. Returning to English, he bit out, “tell me your age, youngling, and the colour of your hair.”

“I hast ten and one years, and mine hair is brown.”

The goblin tilted his head a moment, listening to her accent. “Elphyne?” Phoebe’s eyes widened in response. He nodded, then spoke in a strange tongue as he pressed another button. Returning his attention to the woman, he said “the healer has three minutes to arrive or Gringotts will heal the child. We will be charging the ministry, as is custom, if that occurs.”

The woman, who appeared to be in charge, nodded. One of the men at the door checked a pocket-watch. At exactly three minutes, the door opened again, and another goblin arrived. “Healing is private. Leave.”

The woman was muttering something about wishing the kid hadn’t had a key. She turned to the men at the door. “Let Scrimgeour know that there is an incident.” She turned back to the Goblins as the men left. “As she is a girl child, I will stay.”

The healer clipped out “acceptable” as he waved his hand in the air near Phoebe’s arm. He then spoke gently in Phoebe’s language. “Your arm is broken and has several large gashes. I will repair it. It will hurt. Your ankle is not broken, but will need attention as well. You have small cuts and bruises on your face and elsewhere. Do you consent?”

Phoebe was so grateful to speak her own tongue she revealed too much. “Yes, Healer. I am called Phoebe Elizabeth, daughter of the Nynyane, sired by Max, paternity expunged, and I need to find the Seer.”

“Anything is available for the correct price.” As he spoke, he poked a metal object to her shoulder, and she gasped. A few painful moments later, her arm and ankle no longer hurt. The goblin looked at the instrument, then back to her. His face was suddenly more kind, and he bowed his head respectfully. “You are known to us, your grace. This woman appears to claim you. Is she a relative?”

“I don’t know her. She seems like a town guard?”

The healer fired off another spate of Gobbledegook at Gorlak, who turned to the woman. “She will be taken to the vaults.”

“You can’t keep her!”

Gorlak nearly rolled his eyes. Phoebe was glancing from one to the other. The healer spoke in her primary language again. “You will go to the vault. It will test you, and if you belong, we must release you to the witch and the human ministry. If you do not, you will fade as others have faded, in time. This is something we cannot change about this world. Pray your father’s blood is strong enough. Do you understand?”

“Must I do this?”

“There is no other choice, your grace.”


	3. Vaults and Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting the vaults and meeting an auror. The Beginnings of Alliance and entering the wizarding world.

The cart that Phoebe was directed to went scarily fast. They passed under a strange waterfall and careened through tunnels and over great chasms.

After they finally stopped, Phoebe scrambled out of the cart, trying not to shame herself by vomiting. She leaned against a wall, taking deep breaths.

The woman was irritated. And vocal about it. She also looked different. Her hair was straight and brown, and her eyes were two different colours. She’d lost all the cosmetics on her face. The words between the goblin they’d sent with them and the woman flew too fast for Phoebe to follow.

The goblin turned his back on the woman abruptly, stepping in front of large stone doors with strange symbols and interlocking gears. He pointed at Phoebe with a small smile, then beckoned. When she reached him, he grabbed her hand, shoving it onto a brass plate in the centre.

“We’ll see now, won’t we, girl. Best of luck.” The goblin stepped back as Phoebe tried to remove her hand. She tugged in a panic, but it wouldn’t move. She felt something bite into the space between her thumb and forefinger, and a trickle of blood ran down her palm.

The woman didn’t move. Phoebe started murmuring low in her own language to keep herself calm. She whispered a charm against her blood being used against her. She murmured it again and again as the blood slowly trickled to her elbow. She still could not remove her hand, pull as she may.

Phoebe’s eyes widened as she watched the blood reverse its flow back up to her hand and a loud thunk was heard somewhere. The noise boomed through the cavern, echoing several times. Then the screeching of metal like a hinge too long unoiled, and gears beginning to move.

The door released her hand, which was strangely unharmed and blood free. The goblin stepped forward again, shooting a glare at the woman to keep her back. His voice was so quiet, Phoebe strained to hear. “Gorlak will contact you, your grace.” Louder, he followed it with, “Greetings, Miss Max. You may enter the vault.”

“I’m going in with her.”

“Only a Max can enter the vault.”

“There are none of that family left!”

The goblin laughed, a mean sound. “The vault says otherwise.”

“I’m going.”

He shrugged dismissively, still chuckling. “You can try. The vault defends itself.”

The goblin ran a finger along the seam of the door, and the vault opened a bare inch. For all the noise before, the swing was silent. He made a gesture at Phoebe, and she pulled the door further open. The room was rather large, but not massive. Shelves with chests lined the walls to either side. The back wall held one shelf with books. Two dining tables held small boxes and several greyish bolts of cloth. The floor was bare stone, with several rugs rolled up against the shelving. A couple wardrobes and other furniture pieces littered the back, along with frames draped in cloth. The whole place thrummed with magic. Phoebe could practically see it floating in the air.

A single small table was set aside, just inside the entrance. A small bowl with three envelopes sat on top. They held the names of her papa and mama, as well as her own. She stepped carefully into the vault. She made it only two steps when she was startled.

A loud zap was heard behind her, and the poor woman who was trying so hard to help was thrown back a few feet. Her hair was now standing erect, and she was muttering something under her breath as she painfully rose again to her feet. “Okay. Guess I’m not going in.” The goblin had the grace not to laugh.

Phoebe lifted the envelope with her name, and felt something ephemeral break. The envelope seal popped open on its own, and she retrieved the letter inside. A quick scan of the words revealed only a single sentence. “If you are the only one to make it home, the wills are held by the Ministry.”

Phoebe took nothing from the vault save the letter. The trip back to the main hall was as fraught as the trip down had been. There were several people wearing the same insignia as the woman demanding to see something, or someone. Words flew by too fast for Phoebe to catch as the woman caught up with the rest of the guards.

While the Aurors argued with each other and some of the goblins, Gorlak greeted her with a small dip of the head. Phoebe smiled at him in return. “Your father’s wand will be removed to your personal vault, your grace, which was established before your birth. Your key will be delivered to you upon your next ritual.” He watched closely to ensure she understood his words, then nodded. “You will be taken to the ministry. They will do whatever wizards do.” He twitched his cuffs into place, waiting for something.

“I appreciate your pains and courtesy.” She raised her sleeve slightly and crossed her arms across her chest in the way she had been taught, allowing the goblin a peak at a small portion of her filigree.

His eyes fixed on the hint of blue. “It is our duty, and incurs no charge.”

She watched him a moment, and then tilted her head. “Be it customary to proffer a gratuity, Warlord?”

His eyes widened just slightly at the ritual opening, then he grimaced. “Our honour forbids.”

Another voice cut across their conversation before she could give the prescribed response. Phoebe nearly growled at the rude interruption. The goblin’s brow furrowed in annoyance, but he retreated slightly, sneering at everything but her. A tall man strode toward her. “Are you the child Phoebe Elizabeth Max?” Phoebe took an involuntary step back, flinching, and the man stopped in his tracks. He stared for a long moment at her face, appearing slightly uneasy, before his expression cleared. “Apologies, miss. Wren told me you were skittish. Said your English was spotty and archaic, as well. Can you understand me?”

Phoebe swallowed hard as a tendril of magic wrapped around them both at his apology, and decided to be pleasant. “In the main, sir. Pray tell, how shalt I assist ye?”

He slowed his speaking, and enunciated carefully. “I am Auror Proudfoot. Well, one of them. You’ll come with me to the ministry. We need to handle some paperwork and see what happens from there. Now, will my escort be good enough, or do you need Wren?”

“Your word, good sir, that safe wilt I be?”

“Of course, little one. Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Your oath, sir. With the wooden stick. Wand. My papa,” she paused and took a breath. “He hath required I request this thing.”

He looked startled, then concerned. He pulled out a stick very little like her father’s and dropped to one knee. “Miss Max, I swear on my magic that no harm will come to you while you are in my care if I can prevent it.”

“I accept your oath. In return, I wilt cleave to ye save in defence of mine own life. I lack the stick upon which to swear, but may Lady Magic strike if I be found false. Bethink ye mine oath sufficient for an accord?”

The man smiled, revealing even ivory teeth. “More than.”

Phoebe turned back to Gorlak. She had very little. The clothes on her back, the key and the wand. And some simple jewelry. She’d worn it for the ritual at the shrine. Removing a single earring, she held it out formally cupped in both hands. “For your honour, a gift.”

Gorlak’s face remained unchanged, but his voice softened. The goblin made no move to take the small jewel. He reached out and closed her fingers slowly over the offering, the comforting echoes of a deep cavern in his touch. “It serves our honour that you keep it, child of Elphyne. Call if you have need.” He said nothing more, turning and walking away.

Mr. Proudfoot stared in shock. “What was that?”

“I could not say, sir.” Phoebe re-affixed her earring, her teeth worrying at her lip a moment.

“Please call me Auror Proudfoot, Proudfoot, or just plain Elliot. Sir makes me feel old.” He held out his arm to her, and she placed her small hand on his wrist. “Hold tight, Miss Max, and we will be there shortly.”


	4. The Ministry and Fostering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions, Aurors, and Meeting the Foster Family

Phoebe struggled not to succumb to the sudden bout of nausea. The Auror, as she’d figured it was a title, had done something with his wand, as the goblin had called it, and they’d been squeezed and spun in a most uncomfortable fashion. They’d appeared in a completely different place. The man spoke low and slow. “Is that your first time apparating? I would have said something if I’d known.” The child just nodded miserably. “We’ll wait until you feel better, before we head in.”

She took a few deep breaths, her stomach settling and eyes feeling less like they were pushed to the back of her head. Proudfoot smiled. “It helps if you close your eyes. For next time.”

“Next time?”

He looked a bit taken aback. “Most likely.” He held his arm out, and she laid her fingers on it again as he led her off. They moved through doors and passageways, and once in a creaky metal cage. She watched the vast numbers of people moving to and fro in some sort of choreographed dance. Most seemed to move aside instinctively, but more than once the Auror stepped between her and someone not paying attention, speaking too fast for her to quite understand what he said to them.

Finally they reached his destination, and he opened a wooden door. Inside, there were several desks and chairs, with other people wearing that same insignia. They glanced up as she entered, but went quickly back to their quills and parchment. With flicks of their wands, papers would fold themselves into birds and fly off. Phoebe ducked when one came too close. “Come, Miss Max. Please sit. I need to ask some questions. May I see the letter?”

She handed him the one-line note. “I see, Miss Max. Not much to go on, is it.” He wrote a note, sending it off in bird form to parts unknown. In slow careful English, the man pulled information from her. Her father’s name, his parents’ names, what she was called, to start. His eyebrow lifted when she stated her mother was the Lady of Dawn and Dusk. When he asked her to point to her place of birth on a map, she couldn’t identify the strange coloured divides, though the landmass was moderately familiar. Her birth was recorded as “midwinter”, due to a lack of understanding of how they managed the calendar. A few more fruitless questions about how she got to Gringotts and where she came from had him sighing.

The woman with the blue-tinged hair returned while he sat there. “Hello, duckling. We weren’t properly introduced before, now were we. I’m Wren. I’m Elliot there’s partner. Tell me, has he at least fed you? It’s half past.”

Phoebe’s brow knit. “Half past what, Ma’am?”

Wren threw her head back and laughed, startling the girl. “Never mind that, dearie. It’ll get easier. So, while we wait for the idiots down in records to find the will, would you like some lunch?”

“If’t pleases ye.”

“So polite. You’re a pureblood for sure, with those clothes and those manners.”

Phoebe shrank back in her chair a little, but didn’t say anything to the hurtful words. Proudfoot sighed. “Leave off, Wren.” He stood, turning to Phoebe. His curt voice softened and slowed. “Miss Max, would you care to join me for luncheon? I would be honoured to escort you.”

“I would indeed, Auror Proudfoot. ‘Twould be a delight.”

“Wow, Elliot, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I’ve always been good with children, that’s why you pulled me into this.”

“What, should I have snagged Everleigh?”

They continued to argue good-naturedly as they traversed the maze of halls, arrived in the cantina, and procured lunch for three. “Fish and chips, duckling. You’ll love it.” Phoebe wasn’t quite as enamoured of the greasy fare as Wren appeared to be. The two aurors finished their food and sent their wooden trays flying toward a rack in a corner. Proudfoot and Wren both turned in surprise when the third tray sailed after them. Wren’s mouth dropped for just a moment. “Duckling? Did you?”

She obviously expected a reply. “Was’t not properly done, Auror Wren?”

“No, no. It’s fine.” The woman glanced left and right, then leaned down and lowered her voice. “Duckling, for now, let the grownups handle the magic, okay?” Wren and Proudfoot shared an inscrutable look.

“Yes’m.”

When they got back to the Auror office, an official-looking man was waiting with several folders. Phoebe was ensconced on a dingy couch while the aurors spoke to him. A few minutes later, Proudfoot motioned her over. “Miss Max, do you know what the will states?”

“No, sir.”

The officious man took over, speaking rapidly. Something about grandparents and vaults and sleeping. Wren cut in. “You’re going too fast. Poor thing can’t understand you.”

He shook his head sadly. “Oh. Simple, is she? Well, being a squib makes this much easier,” he said with some satisfaction. Wren nearly growled at him.

Proudfoot stepped in as Wren scowled. “She’s not a squib, Ellard, she’s just not proficient in Modern English.”

The Ellard man hmmphed. “Parents these days. What are they teaching their children? So what does she speak?”

“A dialect that seems to blend Elizabethan and more modern English, though there are some odd words mixed in.”

“Isn’t that peculiar.” He glanced back down at the paperwork. “Regardless, the will is clear. If there are no close relatives available, then the Puceys are to be contacted. We’ve already dispatched an owl, and should hear back soon. You can keep her with you until they arrive, yes?”

Proudfoot crossed his arms. “She’ll stay here with us, yes.”

“Excellent.” The Ellard person slowed his speech down and got very loud. “It. Was. Nice. To. Meet. You.”

Phoebe just stared a moment. “Indeed, Sir.”

After Ellard left, Proudfoot and Wren got Phoebe situated back on the couch. Wren came up with tea, and Proudfoot found a book for her to read. He was lucky she was literate in their language. They returned to work, checking on her frequently.

It wasn’t more than an hour or two before three people were ushered into the office. “Proudfoot! The Puceys to see you!”

The man strode up to Proudfoot’s desk, shaking hands as the auror stood. The woman’s eyes came to rest on Phoebe, then widened. She pulled the younger male forward. Phoebe politely closed the book and stood. “You must be Phoebe Elizabeth. It’s wonderful to meet you, dear. I’m Elladora Pucey, and this is Adrian. I met your father, once, when I was a very little girl.” She spoke carefully. “He was a relative, I think, though distant. I think you are my mother’s second cousin. Not that it matters, dear.”

“”Tis glad I be to meet ye, Madam Pucey, Master Pucey.”

“Oh, no dear, none of that. You must call me Aunt Ella. And do you prefer Phoebe or something else?”

Phoebe debated a long moment. “Papa called me Bethy. ‘Tis a name for family. Others, for them Phoebe shalt I be, if’t be possible.”

Ella’s face softened. “Bethy was my grandmother’s name.” She clapped her hands together, and Phoebe tensed. “There’s much to be discussed, Bethy, but it will wait until we get you settled. I think a quick shopping trip is in order, first. Am I correct in assuming you have no trunk with you?” Phoebe nodded, unsure how to react to the determined cheerfulness.

The man had finished his business with the Aurors. Proudfoot brought him over to join Phoebe and the other Puceys. “Miss Max, it has been a pleasant day in your company. I shall call upon you in the near future.” He winked. “Does this conclude our accord?”

“Auror Proudfoot, a word if’t be permitted?” He glanced at the Puceys and they moved farther away. Phoebe leaned in. “Sir, request I the man take the oath.”

“Miss Max…” he looked at her face. “This is important.” She nodded. “I will ask that he take the oath.”

“Then shall ye released be after that time, shouldst ye wish.”

A hushed conversation between the two adult men was had. Mister Pucey looked vaguely offended, but after a few more words, appeared to acquiesce. Proudfoot led him to her. “Miss Max, this is Mister Damien Pucey. Mister Pucey, this is Miss Phoebe Elizabeth Max.”

Damien smiled slightly. “My Ella would be most displeased if you refused to call me Uncle Damien. I understand you need an oath?”

“If it pleases, sir, Papa required I request an oath.” She bit her lip. “The words fail, sir. The oath of any man set as protector.”

“I understand completely. Had I a daughter, I would want the same thing.” He took out a wand, and reached for her hand, which she gave. “I swear on my magic that I will do everything in my power to protect you as I would any member of my household and family, for you are from this day forward a daughter of my house.” Proudfoot winked at her, knowing the man had already taken a similar, far more in-depth, oath, required of all fosterages sanctioned by the ministry.

Phoebe didn’t feel the push to reciprocate this time. He was swearing a family’s duty, not a personal promise, and she understood the duties of being part of a family. “Pleased would be mine sire, sir.”

“Uncle Damien, remember?”

“Uncle Damien.”

Damien smiled more genuinely. “My Ella has always wanted a daughter. Looks like she’s getting one at last. Now come along, if I know my wife, we have shopping to do.”

Ella Pucey absconded with Phoebe to a washroom to clean her up. “Those aurors. Did they not even think? Leaving a child in such a state.” She also had a wand, and waved it silently over Phoebe. “That’s better. Now, let’s just see.” She waved several other times, mending and straightening Phoebe’s clothing and hair, and whisking away the last of the dried blood crusted in her curls before leading her back to the rest of the Puceys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to VisceralComa, AlyssumFlowers, GrumpkinVicky, and theH00ded1 over on the Portal Fantasy discord server for their long suffering aid on this project.
> 
> The plan is to post frequent and/or bursts of small chapters once a month for this. That...may change given offline circumstances.


	5. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting Diagon Alley and more allies

Diagon Alley was the noisiest place Phoebe’d ever been. There were more people than she’d seen at the ministry, all moving to and fro. Laughter and loud conversations washed over her from every direction. Elladora noticed the girl’s trepidation. “Adrian, dear. Please watch out for Bethy. It’s quite crowded.”

“Yes, Mother.” He held out his arm, and Phoebe put her fingers on it. The boy frowned, then took her hand and wrapped it around his forearm. “This way. Don’t let go.” They moved straight toward a shop with clothing hanging in the window, the dresses miming blowing kisses and flirting, and the smart robes adjusting their waistcoats. Once within, a matronly woman poked and prodded at her. A tape measure floated about measuring in random places, such as the lengths of her fingers and the circumference of her chin. After her measurements were taken, Aunt Ella told Adrian to show her about while the older Puceys got things sorted.

Phoebe stilled, a moment of panic on her face as she looked at her new guardians. Damien noticed her distress. He straightened, addressing his son. “You will ensure that Miss Max is properly cared for, of course. I leave her safety in your hands.”

Adrian nodded gravely. “Of course, Father.” He looked down at the little girl next to him. “Perhaps you would care for an ice cream? Fortescue’s is just over there.”

She glanced at his mother, who nodded. “It’ll be okay, Bethy. Just stick close to Adrian.”

As Adrian was barely cordial, and not warmly inclined. “What flavour would you like?” he asked, as they reached the counter. She quietly gestured to a confection. At least she could read the words on the tags.

He seated her at a table and handed her the treat, getting a quiet nod in return. “So, you’re a Max.” Phoebe eyed him warily, and nodded. He lowered his voice to a hiss and spoke far too fast for her to follow. “I’m a Pucey, and you’ll be living with us until mother gets sick of you and drops you on some other distant relative. There are standards and expectations.” He looked at her dress. “You don’t quite measure up, so don’t be getting ideas. Do we understand each other?” Phoebe said nothing, dropping her eyes to the table. She didn’t want to say she hadn’t understood more than three words. He slowed down and continued in a more normal tone. “Now, eat your ice cream, don’t do anything weird, and we’ll get along fine.”

They had barely taken a bite when several older boys invited themselves to sit. “Yo, Ades, isn’t she a tad young for you? Pretty little birdie, though.”

“I’ve never seen this one before. What’s she wearing, Pucey? Some hand me down from a hundred years ago?”

“Shut it, Montague. Mum saddled me with her.” Phoebe set down her spoon at his words. She didn’t quite understand the words in that order, but the tone was enough. She no longer wanted to eat.

“So you want to check out Quality Quidditch?” The third boy sneered at her, showing rather unfortunate teeth.

The first one added his two cents. “They have the new Firebolt, you have got to check it out.”

Adrian turned to her. “You don’t mind, right?” He stood, and she didn’t move.

The one called Montague was about to stand, but stopped and studied her face with a quizzical expression. “Who is she, Adrian? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Adrian glanced back, debating a moment. “Dad asked me to watch her.” The three boys waited expectantly. “Mother’s her guardian. She showed up today. Dropped right into the middle of Gringotts covered in blood.”

“Splinched?”

“She apparated?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard her say more than ten words.”

“Is she some sort of idiot?”

“Knowing my luck, probably.”

Her head shot up at that, eyes narrowing slightly. Her chin lifted just that little bit, and she pushed down her fear. Phoebe addressed her escort in a tone dripping with ice. “I be neither idiot nor deaf, Master Pucey. Ye may return me to your lady mother. I desire no more of this indurate company. Be that words enough, young sir?”

Adrian flushed red, anger and embarrassment warring. Anger won. “I don’t take orders from snot-nosed little brats. Come on, guys. Let’s see that broom. We’re well shot of her.”

The boys trooped off, the one called Montague the only one to look back.

She was considering what to do when a shadow fell over her. She glanced up at an odd man with white blond hair. By his side was a girl not much older than her, whose hair was slightly more golden. The girl tipped her head almost horizontal, looking at her, and then straightened and nodded.

The man smiled. “Mind if we join you, little miss?”

She glanced at the girl then made a welcoming gesture to be polite. She had no idea what the customs were here. Thank goodness they moved no closer. The girl spoke. “I’m so glad. We didn’t want to intrude, did we, Daddy.”

“I am called Xenophilius Lovegood, and this is my daughter Luna.” He glanced down at his daughter, who nodded again, then crossed his arms in front of him and made a slight bow. Phoebe’s eyes widened as she spotted the edge of yellow lines stroked harsh above his wrist in geometric shapes. She crossed her arms in response, granting a glimpse of her own delicate scrollwork. “I be called Phoebe Elizabeth, Mister Lovegood. Greetings, sir, miss.”

“Well, then. Such pretty manners. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you here alone?”

“I be alone, sir. Mine escort hath abandoned me.”

“That won’t do at all. You’ll just have to join us. We’re having a day, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

Luna smiled, readjusting the odd necklace she was wearing. Multiple berries and bluebells were strung together between sprigs of rosemary and thyme. It smelled delightful and caught the eye just right, though it didn’t quite go with the outfit. Phoebe relaxed just a bit as the bluebells rang their sweet tone. Then her eyes narrowed and she dragged her attention from the necklace. Mr. Lovegood, at that point, bowed his head. “Well done, Miss Phoebe Elizabeth.”

“An excellent day. It’s so nice to meet you.” Luna eyed Adrian’s abandoned ice cream. “Is this yours? I wouldn’t have expected pepper.”

Phoebe was torn between caution and curiosity. “‘Tis yours, should ye wish. ‘Twould melt ‘ere the return of mine escort.”

Luna sat next to her. “I adore pepper, but not today, I think.”

“I haven’t heard that accent in years, but it does set you apart. Luna could help you with that. You’ll be going to school with her this year, she says. We had to be here at precisely half three.”

“Don’t worry. There are ever so many interesting things to see.” Which seemed to be a sentence in the middle of a conversation they hadn’t quite had.

Phoebe wondered a moment, and then asked. “Be ye the Seer?”

“Of course not, Seers are adults, right, Daddy? We should take her to Magical Menagerie. They have kittens.”

“Then so we shall. Would you be willing to accompany us, Miss Phoebe Elizabeth? You are as safe in my care as my Luna.” She felt that statement settle on her skin. He continued pensively, though Phoebe wasn’t managing to keep up. “There is little danger to you at the moment. No one understands, you see. The old ways are quite hidden. Quite, quite hidden. It’s a shame. Afterwards, we would return you to…” He paused. “You do have a guardian, do you not?”

“Mister Pucey hath pledged an oath of care.”

“Hmmm. Interesting that you’d be left to fend for yourself. He’s usually a careful man. Well, then, we’ll return you to Pucey when we’re done looking about.” He rose and gestured for the girls to come with him. When they were out of the shop and away from prying ears, he continued. “We will also stop and pick up something to cover your filigree. They’re rare here, you understand. Most people don’t even believe anymore. It’s no accident you were placed with the Ollivander daughter.”

Luna skipped along holding her father’s hand. “I’ll offer at the cromlech next year, when I’m thirteen. I’m hoping for pink. How long have you had yours? It doesn’t look fresh, and you wouldn’t be twelve yet. I wonder if you’ll get your letter soon or if someone will have to shoo away the… Oh, I’ve probably gone too fast and you don’t know half of what I’ve said. I do tend to ramble.”

Phoebe didn’t quite get what she was saying, but the girl was so happy to be saying it. For some reason, people moved out of the Lovegoods’ way. There wasn’t nearly the press of before. Phoebe couldn’t decide if the Lovegoods had that sort of effect or the streets were just quieter.

Mr. Lovegood and Luna gave her a tour of the entire area. They peeked in sweetshops and bookshops and toyshops. Luna giggled at a miniature circus in one window. The acrobats were doing their flips and beckoning to them, but they continued. Mr. Lovegood stopped at an apothecary and insisted that she accept a small container of concealing cream. He claimed that covering her filigree would protect his daughter, so she allowed the father to do his duty. It wasn’t until after they’d visited the kittens and tadpoles at the Magical Menagerie that Mrs. Pucey found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to VisceralComa, AlyssumFlowers, GrumpkinVicky, and theH00ded1 over on the Portal Fantasy discord server for their long suffering aid on this project.


	6. A New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recedham Hall and debts, with a little backstory.

A voice called out as they left the shop. “Oh, my goodness, there you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Mrs. Pucey came quickly up, nearly running. “Xeno, thank you for finding her. I can’t imagine why she ran off. Adrian and his friends were frantic.”

“Ella, we should talk. Luna, Miss Phoebe Elizabeth, remain here.”

Phoebe chewed her lip next to Luna. “Of what speakest they?”

“Oh, I’m sure that Daddy’s just telling her how we watched those boys make fun of you and leave.” Phoebe winced a little at that. “It’s always easier if you tell the truth. His mistake was saying you ran off. Although if he’d said he told you to wait there, he wouldn’t be in trouble. He needs to lie better, I suppose.” Luna shrugged, unperturbed. “He’ll know for next time, most likely.”

They waited only a few more moments before the grownups returned. Mrs. Pucey smoothed Phoebe’s hair. “It will be alright, child. Now, let’s get you home. I bet you could use a rest, yes?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Now, now. It’s Aunt Ella. Thank you again, Xeno. We’ll owl with details.”

They took their leave and Aunt Ella led her off to find the rest of the Puceys. Adrian quailed at the look in his mothers eyes, but all she said was “we will be speaking later, my son.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Now, floo or apparition. What do you think, Damien?”

“We’ll floo from the Leaky.”

Ella gave her quiet instructions once they reached the dingy looking tavern. Adrian went first, nearly shouting “Recedham Hall” to show her how it was done. Aunt Ella went next, and Uncle Damien gestured for Phoebe to go before him.

The floo was much less nice than the perfectly normal portals at home. Twisting and turning, passing people and things and being spit out like a bit of gristle at the end. Covered in soot. She was about to do a simple cleaning charm when Uncle Damien stepped out of the fireplace, pointed his wand at her, and syphoned the soot away. Aunt Ella likewise pulled a wand and took care of Adrian.

The entrance hall was smaller than Phoebe expected. There were several doors leading from the room, but there was only space for a single seating area. The fireplace and mantle were acceptably large, enough for a small giant to walk through, and dominated the little room.

Aunt Ella pulled her husband aside and spoke very quietly to him. He nodded and came to offer an arm to Phoebe. “Perhaps a small tour, my dear?”

“’Twould be well, I think, Uncle Damien.” He led her away as Aunt Ella reached for her son’s ear. Phoebe softly sighed. “He shall be unharmed, Uncle?”

“No one will harm him, child.” They strolled through various rooms, all leading into each other: dining room, library, study (where she wasn’t to go without invitation), stairwell, sitting rooms, and kitchens. The room with the fireplace was the Floo Parlour. Not that the other rooms did not have fireplaces, but that was the one for travel.

As they strolled up the stairs, Damien sighed. “I feel I must offer you an apology. I had expected more of my son. I assume you were frightened to be left alone.”

“Solely for a moment, sir. Mr. and Miss Lovegood came in but a trice.”

He patted her hand as they stopped at a door. “These shall be your rooms.” He opened the doors to a tiny cream sitting room with two doors leading off. “May I enter with you to show you the amenities?” Phoebe nodded. “I’m old enough to know a young woman needs her privacy. You won’t be disturbed. Except by Kimney. She’ll assist you, along with her other duties.”

He clapped, and a brownie appeared, dressed in what looked like an abandoned scarf. “Kimney, this is Miss Phoebe Elizabeth Max. She will be your charge. Treat her with the respect due her as a lady of our house. Phoebe, this is Kimney, one of our house elves.”

Kimney raised large eyes to Phoebe. The brownie’s lip trembled before she snuck a glance at Uncle Damien. “Oh, I be’s so glad to takes care of you!”

“Some of our purchases should have arrived already. Put them away properly.” With that, he proceeded to ignore the little thing. Phoebe thought about saying something, but Kimney shook her head behind Damien’s back, eyes opened wide in fear. Damien showed her the bathing room, which was fairly primitive by Phoebe’s standards, but functional enough. At least it had hot and cold taps. The other door led to a small bedroom also done in cream, with a four poster bed the size of the one she’d had at home. Damien went down on one knee to look Phoebe in the eyes. “I hope you will be comfortable. We’ll send an elf when dinner is ready. Perhaps a bath is in order, hmmm? You’ve had a long day, and we still have much to discuss. Don’t wander about; there are many things not appropriate for children lingering in corners.”

“Yes, Uncle. Fulsome care will I take.”

He stood. “Very well then. Your new wardrobe should have something appropriate for dinner. Kimney will guide you.” With that, he strode out the doors, leaving Phoebe alone with the brownie.

Once Uncle Damien had exited, closing the doors behind him, Kimney dropped prostrate to the floor in front of Phoebe. “Your grace, I apologise for being unable to greet you properly in front of my master.”

“It is as nothing, Kimney. Claim ye title amongst brownies?”

Kimney didn’t raise her head. “I am but a humble servant, highness.”

“Kimney, arise post-haste.” The little thing rose to her knees. “Why be ye clad so meanly? Surely this house provides?”

Kimney remained looking at the floor. “I am but a servant, your grace. Oh, I must iron my hands!”

“Ye shalt not. Explain this wish to damage yourself.”

The little hands creaked, they were wrung so tightly. “I nearly spoke ill of my master, grace. I should punish myself. I am a bad house-elf.”

“Ye bear lineage bound in duty and respect.” The little brownie’s declaration didn’t make sense.

“Wizards and witches, they do not want house-elves to speak proper-like. It makes them angry. They threatens us. Please not punishing me, grace.”

“What be this house-elf?”

Big tears were forming in Kimney’s eyes. “No offense, please, grace. They call us house-elves. Bound to home and family, withering away without. Chained to the hearth, we are.” The brownie gasped and dropped to her knees. “Kimney is a good elf, missy grace. Will takes such good care. Nots to shame the house. Pleased and grateful to serve.” She started banging her head on the floor.

Phoebe was shocked at this. “Cease and desist immediately!”

“Missy be needing a bath. Can Kimney assist the missy of the house?” It was like a complete change had come over the creature.

Phoebe didn’t yet know what, but it was obvious something was wrong. “Ye be given leave to use Miss Phoebe, Kimney. A soak wouldst be most welcome. Ye may apprise me of local custom as I bathe. Speak ye Elphinic?”

“Some, Miss Phoebe. I would be honoured to do so.” The strange brownie snapped fingers and waved hands as she prepared the girl for a more formal dinner. It seemed that whatever affected her speaking in English did not affect her ability in at least one other language. However, Kimney was nowhere near fluent, and could give very little in the way of details. In a mix of Elphinic and English, the girl learnt what she could about brownies in this new world. All Phoebe could gather was that something had occurred half a millennium ago that changed the normal bonds of a brownie to their family and hearth. Things were so bad that boggarts were more common than brownies.

Another brownie popped in as Kimney was finishing with Phoebe’s hair. It immediately gasped and dropped to the floor. “I am being Grungy. I serve the house Pucey. The master calls the Miss Phoebe to dinner. I to be askings for Miss Phoebe to follows me. Does the grace know where to finds the Miss Phoebe?”

Kimney spoke up. “The grace is the Miss Phoebe.”

Grungy started to shake. Phoebe was getting a headache from the strangeness of this place. “Kimney, how be it one house binds two unrelated brownies?”

“Is the way of house-elves, Miss Phoebe.” Grungy hissed at this, pulling at his ear.

“Be still.” Phoebe turned an eye to both creatures. “Knowest ye my name, and I command ye shall not damage yourselves.” Grungy stopped, but looked worried. “’Tis my wish to investigate in due course.” She closed her eyes. Thank goodness for her training. “Ye may deliver me to dinner, Grungy.” Grungy raised his hands and Phoebe placed one upon them. “Kimney, set all to rights, and stay within if you may. Do what be needful for health and wellbeing.”

Kimney’s “yes miss” was lost as they popped away.

Brownie travel was far more familiar to Phoebe. So much better than that horrid floo or the wizards’ apparition. Phoebe arrived in the parlour she’d seen earlier, and turned to express her appreciation to Grungy. Grungy didn’t even stay long enough for a bare glance, popping away nearly the instant he released her hand.

She’d thought she was alone in the room, but a moment later, she heard a throat clearing. The boy, Adrian, looked a bit irritated. “I apologise, Miss Max, for my earlier behaviour. It was not well done of me.”

Phoebe was not fooled. “Your words be nothing but poisoned honey. I acknowledge the debt of one Master Adrian Pucey, and solely with time and care shall it be permitted to be fulfilled.”

The boy’s eyes widened as he felt the magic wrap him. Did he not realise that apologies only began the process? He stammered a bit. “Debt?”

“The patriarch of family Pucey an oath swore. The scion of the house forsook it. Well know I what life be worth, Scion Pucey, and so easily appeased I shall not be.”

“Alright. I’ll make it right, somehow. You know, you look much better in proper clothes. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Just so you know, Mum is already planning your wardrobe for when mourning is done.”

“Raiment changes not the wearer.”

He frowned. “I suppose so. But if the guys had seen you like this, they’d have behaved better.”

“’Twas the duty of mine escort to school their behaviour.”

He stepped closer to her and bowed. “You are correct, and it will not happen again. Dad asked me to escort you to the dining room after I had apologised. May I lead you?” He held out his arm, and she nodded, placing her hand on his wrist, as was proper. He gently wrapped her hand around his forearm. “Are you from the past, Miss Max? We now escort in this manner.”

“Overly familiar, it is. Most unseemly.”

“Manners appear to be different where you come from. Older.”

“Verily.”

“Are you really from the past?”

“Time here and time there be not the same, but neither past nor future.”

His brow furrowed in thought. “Mother said your father was lost to us. But she didn’t specify how.”

She blinked back sudden tears. “No wish have I to speak of the freshly fallen.”

Adrian’s face showed his chagrin. “I apologise again, for prying.” And he led her off. Phoebe shook her head slightly. This boy was a danger to himself, and needed looking after. He was going to be bound and lost for certain, should he not amend his words. Perhaps it was good that he owed her before the others found him.

Dinner was made of strange foods. Cuts of meat in savoury sauce was the most familiar. Vegetables were drenched in oil and strange spices. The potato contained both butter and some sort of whipped soured milk. Salt was displayed in a glass container on the actual table. Phoebe knew better than to comment, glancing at the pure substance in the shaker warily. The warning they could hurt her if they chose was subtle, but there. The cutlery was thankfully silver. She’d heard stories from her papa about iron forged to make forks and knives. The family didn’t stand on ceremony, merely tucking in and conversing lightly.

In the parlour after the meal, while the males were doing what males do in the study, Aunt Elladora got down to the questioning. Enunciating clearly and speaking at a sensible pace, the woman delicately drew information about her new ward. All of Bethy’s grandparents had wielded magic. She’d had training in dancing, deportment, and statescraft. She had the ability to use magic herself, but claimed her magic was small and strange.

Ella discovered Bethy was well versed in her numbers and letters, and could read in four languages, including English. It was listening to English that was difficult, as no two people seemed to speak the same way, and the words went fast. There were many words she didn’t know. She also had to think before she spoke, composing her words carefully.

She carefully told Ella about her mother and grandmother, both Nynyane, and the priestess, and the fire and wind. Her description was vivid, and Ella looked a bit green by the end. Phoebe had expected to be upset as well, but unknown to her, Aunt Ella had laced her after dinner tea with calming draught. Lastly, Ella gently moved Phoebe’s sleeve, showing the edge of the deep blue scrollwork that twined up past her elbow. “Do you wish to tell me about this, Bethy?”

“Do ye not offer to magic?”

“Some do, but not many.”

Phoebe remembered that day too well. She got lost in the memory, the last day she’d seen her papa hale.

_She’d held the priestess’ hand as she stared at the entrance to the sanctuary. She’d glanced back at her papa, who was standing with a look on his face she’d never seen before. It was as if all emotion had been stripped from him._

_That morning, he’d warned her. Her grandmother was going to take her from him. This would be the last day that they saw each other for a very long time._

_She’d broken away from the priestess, running back to him. His face shone with love and sorrow for just a moment as she’d hugged him tightly. “Don’t forget, Bethy. You are something special. Half Elphinic, half Max and pure magic. Remember what I’ve taught you.”_

_“I will, Papa.”_

_The priestess was patient, and led her into the holy place. Bethy knew what was required: a drop of blood, a deep breath, and trusting herself. She closed her eyes, feeling the thrum as magic swelled._

_Glittery walls had slid by in her mind as she watched. A voice somewhere had whispered, trying to distract her, but she concentrated on her control. How far could she go? When she could barely breathe any more, stretched tight and thin, she pushed that little bit further._

_Something had sparkled in the distance, and she had wanted to see it. It had drawn her, but she needed to breathe. A few millimetres more, and she could hold the pose no longer, and had crashed into herself. She had inhaled sharply as fire burned across her skin. The lines had twined and trailed an intricate design up her left arm, its colour a deep blue._

_The priestess had hummed behind her. “A nice filigree. And so complex, dearling. Quite the honour.” She remembered a cool hand touching her forehead. “How do you feel?”_

_Even at seven, she had known better than to reveal more than necessary. Her brow had furrowed, just a touch, as a display. “I thought I was going to get dots? The Lady of Flowers said I’d be lucky to get a dot or two.”_

_The priestess’ face had clouded a moment, then she had smiled. “Well, child, I hope you will be happy with what you have earned. I shall have to speak with your lovely aunt.”_

Phoebe came back to herself with Aunt Ella gently patting her cheek. “I didn’t mean to distress you, Bethy.”

She took a breath. “I offered first at seven.”

Aunt Ella stared. “Adrian won’t be able to try until he is sixteen. Maybe seventeen.” There were questions in Phoebe’s eyes. “One must be centred enough to offer properly.”

“Miss Luna Lovegood plans for thirteen. Mine own traditions be seven, thirteen, nineteen, thirty-one, forty-seven, and so forth. Beings change over time.”

“You received this on your first offering?”

“Yes’m.”

Ella raised her sleeve just a bit, showing a few straight sparse lines in a delicate orange. “My husband doesn’t have filigree. I’m hoping my son will offer, but Damien…” She broke off, and didn’t finish the thought.

Ella asked questions also about her age. The dates did not correlate well, so Phoebe counted days until she finished her twelfth year. It would be just before the winter solstice, in both lands. The gentlemen joined them about then, and the conversation changed to more general things, moving too fast to follow. After the conversations died, she was given a small vial of a potion called dreamless sleep. “You’ve been through a lot, dear, and you’ve handled it well, but the emotions will catch up with you. Take this if you have nightmares. I’ll be sending a calming draught up, also.”

“Aunt Ella, perhaps a bit of buttered bread and milk, if it be permissible?”

“Of course. I’ll arrange it. Adrian, please escort Bethy to her rooms.”

The boy was far more respectful after their conversation earlier. At the door to her rooms, he looked down, brow furrowed. “Master Pucey?”

He looked confused, then shook his head. “Sleep well, Miss Max.” He turned and left before she opened the door.

Phoebe noticed that the bread and milk had already arrived. She drank half the milk and placed the cup on the mantle. Breaking the bread in half, she set one piece next to the milk. The rest of the fare she consumed. It had been too long since dinner, and she hadn’t eaten much for fear of offending. She changed into a cotton nightshift and put alarm charms on the drapes before allowing herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to VisceralComa, AlyssumFlowers, GrumpkinVicky, and theH00ded1 over on the Portal Fantasy discord server for their long suffering aid on this project.


End file.
